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[ There's another twinge across their connection; it's like pressing on a bruise, a sharp pinch followed by a dull throb. Judging from her faraway expression, she's probably thinking along similar lines as he has in the past: all of the people she knows who were handy or crafty, who'd maybe done something like Ariadne had with the dremel and her totem. ]

It would—[ He pauses, sorting out how he wants to say this. Brows knitting, he follows her gaze towards the darkly painted canvases, letting out a deep sigh. ]—I'd feel more reassured, if you did.

Whether it's One's or Sleep's, it doesn't really matter. Spend enough time in a dream and it can become your reality. Back home, some do that by choice.

[ Yusuf's dream den comes to mind, all those people who go there to dream their lives away, day in and day out. Attention shifting, he focuses on the translucent die in his hand, fiddling with the plastic, watching it occasionally catch in the light and bleed red across his skin. ] Others don't. And when they finally wake up, they think they're still dreaming, that all the trappings of reality don't apply to them.

[Her lips part, millions of questions at the tip of her tongue, inherently both childishly contrary and genuinely curious: if it's been long enough to be a danger to you, to become your reality, why would you think to question it by checking the totem? Even if you did, what would waking up after something like that do to you? Would that be better than staying in the dream if it's a peaceful one? A fulfilling one?

Don't you think it's time to wake up?

For half a breath, she freezes. Thinks of auburn curls and lavender and the gut-wrenching freefall. Arthur's reflection taunting him about what was real and what wasn't.

She closes her mouth again, quiet. Her attention drifts back to the die as he fidgets with it, expression neutral in its contemplation. A breeze rustles the trees at her end of the tether, the crowded wood and cluster of the canopy concealing what lives within, whatever it is she's turning over as he does with his token.

It's just a beat of silence, of tacitly acknowledging what he's just shared with her about dreaming in his world. And then, as easily as autumn leaves fall:] I'll make something. Do you have any suggestions? It doesn't matter if you know what the object is, so long as you don't know the details of its function, right?

[There's still doubt within her that it will be of any use to her in One's dream or of any aid in Sleep's. That doesn't matter, though. The important thing is that it's important to Arthur. If it helps him, it serves a worthy enough purpose.]

[ Curiosity bubbles across their tether, the sound of her contemplation like the rustle of leaves, the distant but powerful rush of a river. He can't quite tell what questions sit on her tongue, just that there are plenty. And, well, why wouldn't there be? Certainly, if he didn't know anything about dreamshare, he'd want some answers too.

All of that seems to come to an abrupt halt, a chill wind blowing—the kind that froze one's blood as soon as they stepped outside. Before he has a chance to tilt a concerned look in her direction, she's already moving on, the unspoken queries seeming to evaporate. ]

The function being known doesn't matter all that much. It's the feel and weight of the object. [ With a small motion, he rolls the die loosely in his palm. ] Mine, for example—someone could see it and with enough observation, figure out how to replicate the visual effect. But, as soon as I picked it up, I'd know it was wrong, because the weight distribution would be formed from their assumption.

[ Not a situation he's found himself in, just yet, but it was there, just in case. Fingers closing over his totem, he tucks it back into his pocket, considering her question. After a beat, his expression lights up, a possibility coming to mind. ]

You could use your ring. Even if there were another like it, the engraving would change the weight. Plus, it wouldn't have all the wear of years.

[The moment of the die rolling across Arthur's palm doesn't pass by without bringing the wicked impulse to snatch it up while it's loose. But like many wicked impulses, it's ignored. Or maybe "diverted from" is more accurate.

Because she tries to grab on to the practicality of the statement, the content of the suggestion, but. The way his face lights with excitement is so sudden. So captivating. That's the part she latches to instead, to the point where it's a full throb of a heartbeat before she absorbs the meaning of his words, her heart feeling swollen in her chest.

With the passing of that heartbeat comes weight. Even before it settles fully into her face and shoulders, her ears droop with her uncertainty.] I'm...not sure that Sleep doesn't know the weight of that.

She— [How does she describe the way Sleep held her? The way Sleep knew her in that moment? It turns out that she doesn't, ending up only with a twist of the mouth where words should be. A slightly different explanation eventually comes, though it feels awkward in its vagueness.] —she felt...everything else important to me.

[ For a full moment after he pitches the idea of using her ring, Kalmiya seems to be—intent. But not on what he's saying, not exactly. With the way their tether has degraded, he's having a harder time pinpointing exactly what might be causing the gentle rustle of leaves and underbrush that he gets across the connection.

What he does get, at least, is that there's a warmth behind it.

As he's still puzzling through that, her entire posture changes, starting with the tips of her ears drooping, the slant of them seeming to compress the curve of her spine, too. Frowning, he considers what she brings up—Sleep had held her, in the dream. While he hadn't been in the same room when it happened, that grasp had transferred across the tether. It'd been the iron will of something beyond human, the same as the sear that came afterwards. Would that still count as touching, even if she hadn't actually laid hands on the object? Though unlikely, he doesn't know enough about Sleep's power to make that call or provide any kind of reassurance. ]

Might be best to use something new, then. If she didn't actually hold it, there's a possibility it would still be useable. But—[ He spreads his hands, mouth twisting in dissatisfaction. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, thinking it over. ] There's bound to be something in the city. Maybe a jeweler, they'd have tools, at least.

[More disappointing than her thoughts of Sleep, of not being able to use the ring, is having to puncture his enthusiasm for the suggestion. But she's trying to follow the spirit of the concept even if she doubts the possibility of hiding anything from Sleep, particularly after having earned her ire on a personal level.

The thumb of her right hand finds the base of her ring finger, rubbing its pad along the space where she hasn't worn the ring in months, fearful that her unpredictable shapeshifting would cause it to be lost or damaged. She would have liked to use it for this. As it is, the only reminder of reality it gives is that this is the longest she's ever been apart from the person who gave it to her.

Loneliness washes over her in the breeze and then is carried away by the very same wind in Kalmiya's refusal to linger on it, even as she speaks of skills that she wouldn't have if not for someone else very dear to her.] A jeweler sounds good. I'm familiar with some of those tools.

It'll be an ugly little thing, but— [She shrugs one shoulder, glancing back to the gritty smears of blue on her canvas.] There's no charm in perfection.

[ While their tether is weaker than it was, he's still gotten to know Kalmiya well enough to recognize the fidgeting she does with her hands. Her fingers trace the empty space near her knuckle, clearly used to wearing a ring there. Briefly, he wonders why she wouldn't, in the moment. Perhaps she doesn't, when she's painting. Or maybe she didn't want questions? When she'd shown him before, it had seemed to be taken out of a pocket.

Another thought occurs, as he takes in the pensive slant of her furry ears and the sway of her tails: shapeshifting with the ring on might damage it. And clearly, it meant a lot to her, so, not something she would want to risk. As he thinks it, he gets that twinge of loneliness across the connection. Truly, it isn't that strong, but he's familiar enough with it to know the label. In typical Kalmiya fashion, she doesn't let it linger. ]

Should be one close by. I've got a few more tools to fill in the blanks, if they're missing anything. [ They'd been in his hand, when he'd awoken in the Guggenheim; a small, well-organized pouch of tools meant for slightly more delicate workings. He thought they might have come from Sleep, but with the latest reveal of One being the dreamer, perhaps he had a different benefactor. What they meant, he isn't sure.

Either way, he grants her a small, crooked smile as she looks over her paintings. ] Perfectly misaligned or something like that. It'll work better with some flaws to it, honestly.

[The discussion of tools draws her eye back to the brushes abandoned in by her canvas; with her immediate excitement abated and more complex realizations settled for the time being, she reaches down to finish her task. As she swishes and dries each brush, Arthur's humming thoughtfulness and little smile in her peripheral, she gives a fond chuckle.] Might want to supervise if you're going to let me use yours. I've never been left unattended in a workshop before.

[Well. She was once. And got very close to setting off an explosive failsafe on a set of anti-magic wrist cuffs.

Those were extenuating circumstances, though.

She's exaggerating her general destructiveness, anyway; she handles her own brushes delicately enough, and she'd never treat a friend's possessions with less care than her own. Her grip is gentle as she gathers them up with her palette and then rises out of the nest of cushions to set her supplies back at her desk. Lightly,] Think that's all the painting I've got in me for now. Unless you have any requests.

I doubt you'll break anything; paintbrushes are way more delicate than a screwdriver. [ But, he isn't turning down the possibility of supervising. At least, he'd want to accompany her out of sheer nosiness if nothing else.

She reinforces his confidence in the care of her motions as she goes about cleaning her brushes off and drying the bristles of excess water. They're gently gathered up and placed back where they belonged alongside her palette, set out in a way that would let them continue to air dry. His eyebrows raise as she asks if he has requests, though, and he tilts his head, looking over her paintings with consideration. ]

Not at present. It's more interesting to see what you do on your own. [ Besides, he can't really think of what he'd want to have displayed on a canvas. Maybe he'll think of something another time. Either way, he's touched that she made the offer—art took time and energy. ] Although, I could think of a request unrelated to painting.

[ His gaze slants away from her paintings and towards her instead, cautious interest sparking in his expression. ]

Is there a reason you've been holding back, recently? [ While he can certainly make some logical guesses, he wants to hear it from her instead of filling in the gaps. Before One's dream, he wouldn't have said they were very platonically affectionate, aside from a couple standout moments. Their sexual expression, though, had formed a natural kind of chemistry. Arthur hadn't expected her to bounce back immediately after what Sleep had done, but something about her felt—tightly wound. Contained. Things he didn't associate with Kalmiya in the least. ]

[Even as someone often interested in the processes of others' passions, she has a hard time grasping it when that interest is reciprocated. Moreso now in her shaken state, when she's still trying to pick up some of the scattered pieces of her confidence.

As it turns out, that pertains to his request even though it isn't art-related. Even before he asks, before she turns to meet his eye, she senses his gaze on her, a weight in the air and a spark on the tether. One of her ears flicks, sensitive to the change in the room. The anticipatory prickle at the back of her neck echoes at the base of her spine, fluffing the fur at the base of her tails, which have gone still in her sudden alertness.

Perhaps without that chemistry, without the tether, she would ask for clarification. There's a lot she's been holding back recently while she adjusts to this new understanding of what existing in this world means for her and the people she cares about. However, he refers to something specific: something she's been trying to set aside while she recalibrates, excepting the occasional reprieve of Toki's easy affection. Having it noticed—and being noticed now, in this moment, by someone she's still very much attracted to—brings a faint, flustered warmth to her cheeks.

While she wasn't expecting the question, it's clear that it's been on her mind from how short the pause is that precedes her answer, like she might have already thought about needing to explain herself.] It seems like a lot to ask in light of everything we know now.

And I'm— a little sensitive at the moment. [In many ways. Though especially to anything that might lead her back in the direction of that painful solitude—such as rejection, an irrational but painfully present fear lately.]

[ Kalmiya turns to follow the flick of her ear, clearly attuned to the sudden shift in the conversation. When she does, there's a bronze-pink flush across her cheeks. At this, his eyebrows go up marginally, surprised to see the question left her feeling flustered. It's not that he thought it an impossible emotion for her, just that she had a high tolerance for most things that would normally make people shy away.

Her answer, though, is much in line with what he knows of her. Because that's a trait of Kalmiya's he likes immensely: she's thoughtful. Their tether had been borne under the red moon's influence, something they hadn't known until they'd left that physical entanglement with mental impressions of each other, a lingering connection that stayed. Of course, they hadn't strayed from it, even with the knowledge in the aftermath.

That aside, he gets the faint sense of fear from her end. It's a quiet kind of rustling, buried underneath the light way she mentions being sensitive. For a moment, he frowns, turning it over in his head. He doesn't think she's afraid of Sleep—not even after the altercation. They share a similar disdain for deity figures, though he thinks hers runs much deeper, based on the glances he's gotten of her past. Could she be afraid of everything being severed again? Maybe. It would fit.

Though, it wouldn't be the fear of the pain or the punishment, the more he thinks on it. No, he remembers her mirror, how it taunted and jeered, asking what made her worthy of love. Below her feet lays a canyon of blackened loneliness, one she resolutely looks away from. Sleep had forced her eyes downwards, showed her the abyss she's worked hard to build a bridge over by forcibly cutting off her connections. He'd only gotten a small taste of that, when he and Sharon woke up to find a gap where Kalmiya had once been in their mind's eye.

That was the heavy pit of truth, sitting like a stone and weighing her limbs down. Fear she'd be an island again, that any previous tether would turn it down if offered again—because no longer could they claim ignorance. In perhaps other circumstances, he would consider that the path forward. Why would he want to be emotionally tangled up with someone he hadn't known that long? His relationship with Kalmiya isn't a normal situation, though.

So his frown eases up, expression toeing the line of mischief. Across the tether, as weak as it is, there's a warm hum, as serious as it is understanding. ]

Then I'll ask: how do you feel about casual sex? [ It feels right, to make this a cyclical conversation. ]

[Though not a force enough to stay her candor in the first place, the buzz of worry persists beneath her admission into the beat of quiet that follows. The electronic whir she's so accustomed to is fainter over the tether than in her sensitive ears at this proximity, the pulse of his artificing magic louder than his thoughts in the too-empty mental space they share. Though her posture remains neutral, eyes settled somewhere amidst the nest of cushions, the twitching of her ears and tails give her away, too-attentive little flicks as her senses try to compensate for what her intuition can't pick up.

It's the warmth that pulls her gaze to Arthur, which does little to ease the flush in her face when she catches that edge of mischief. She knows him well enough by now to know what's coming, though the way he chooses to ask catches her off-guard, prompting a bubble of laughter both disbelieving and amused. Claws clack restlessly atop the surface of her desk as she tries to tamp down the intensity of her relief in the moment afforded by that laugh. Reckoning with the deep yearning for the former strength of their tether is a bit much for the present moment, but she can't entirely avoid it in the wave that washes the tension from her body, held in such subtle increments that she hadn't noticed it until it was gone.]

Positive, on the whole, [she answers once her laughter ebbs, turning to face Arthur fully. She folds her arms over her chest as she leans her weight back onto the desk's edge, playfulness softened by sincerity as she continues.] Though I don't know how casual it is at this point.

[She still has no name for what it is, despite her suggestion that she'd eventually find one. Truthfully, she feels little drive to understand its exact nature, nor to risk placing expectations on it by ascribing an ill-fitting label. But she knows it's something intimate—something important. It's gone well beyond the realm of impulsive physical gratification. And if it's worth having, it's worth acknowledging as something serious. Something worth the fear she feels over losing it.

A curious tilt of her head. A hopeful lick of heat along her spine, her tails swishing slowly.] You're really still interested?

[ There she is, he thinks, as her expression morphs from disbelief to the shimmer of delight, her laugh ringing out in an utterly joyful peal. While her magic doesn't work here, not as it did in the dream, with the bob of her hair seeming to be in otherworldly suspension, it almost seems as if it's doing that now, her curls shaking with the suppressed motion of her shoulders. It's catching, in its own way, as his smirk softens at the edges, amusement tilting the line of it instead. ]

I figured as much. [ He replies, once she's been able to find words again through her giggles. As for whether it's casual or not—well, it's a label that works for now. While he doesn't like to leave things so open-ended, he also doesn't know what to ascribe to their relationship. To call it committed isn't exactly wrong. Nor is it right. So, he gives her a one-shouldered shrug, both agreeing and not having any further input at the moment.

He will, he's sure, later. After he's had a lot of time to ruminate. ]

Kalmiya, you should know I don't offer things I have no interest in.

[A smaller wave of laughter, just a chuckle that buoys her words.] I know, I know, just— I told you, I'm sensitive!

[It's more a tease than a reprimand, and the humor is at her own expense, anyway. She knows very well that he wouldn't ask if he weren't truly interested; in fact, the fact that he got to asking at all means he's likely given it a lot of thought prior to bringing it up. There's no justified doubt in her heart, no real reason not to trust that he knows what he's asking for.

There's just that little twinge of fear. Which she knows better than to give an ear to, but—she just wants to make sure. Much as she doesn't want to venture anywhere near that aching void again, the idea of getting Arthur hurt through her thoughtlessness is worse.

Regardless, she has her sought-after reassurance. She also has the persisting heat beneath her skin, more intense at the apples of her cheeks and the base of her spine. Languidly her arms unfold, the palms of her hands settling on the edge of the desk to brace her lean as she shifts her weight and scuffs the ball of one foot idly against the floor. Clear excitement undercuts the attempted mischief in her blooming smile, the slow sway of her tails picking up some speed beneath the large, loose-fitting shirt she wears as a smock.] So, what's the expected turnaround time for this request? I can get to granting it immediately if you need a rush job.

[ Despite his reiteration, he can't bring himself to feel frustrated by Kalmiya's near-paranoid triple checking. For one, she's very recently been through an ordeal like none other. For two, she normally didn't need such reassurances. She'd learned to handle herself, measure out her confidence, and give her trust when it was warranted.

The encounter with Sleep had thrown all of that into disarray. While she didn't seem to be on the verge of a crisis, she was still getting back up on wobbly legs; a newborn foal, beginning the process of walking on her own all over again. Judging from the shift in her body language, though, he thinks that she's well on her way. There's mischief in her expression, in the languid swish of her tails, the familiar curve of her mouth. ]

Well, you know me, I'm willing to be patient. [ He says, tone warm with amusement–sometimes it was fun to push buttons. ]

But–[ Leaning forward, he catches the slide of her foot on the hardwood floor, slowly dragging his palm up the bridge of it to loosely curl around a delicate ankle. All the while, he doesn't turn his gaze away from hers, angling it upwards as he continues. ]–if you're offering a rush job, I could hardly say no.

[His amusement encourages her little smile into a toothy grin. Even with the tether in a weakened state, it shakes with her excitement—as do her tails, their sway becoming a full-on wag. His palm is met with a slight and sudden tensing of her tendons as it alights on her foot, which relaxes as his hand moves upward to circle his fingers around her ankle.

(In tandem with the bloom of supernatural heat beneath her skin, the faint and brief sensation of a tickle passes over the psychic connection.)

She keeps his gaze steadily, irises shimmering with iridescence in her delight.] I'm always happy to shuffle you to the top of my priority list.

[Delicately she bends at the waist to reach down to him. The points of her claws and pads of her fingertips are both gentle as they brush down the side of his face, over the hollow of his cheek and down, where her thumb settles in the shallow dimple of his chin. She's captivated by the resulting warmth, a comforting taste of what their tether used to be.] As long as you don't spread word about my favoritism, of course.

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